“If I weren't standing next to your boyfriend, I'd be tempted to ask you out myself."She blushes, and St. Clair bounds inside the box office and wrestles her into a hug. "Miiiiiiiiine!" he says."Cut it out." Anna pushes him off, laughing. "You'll get fired. And then I'll have to support your sorry arse for the rest of our lives.”

“Anna prods St. Clair's shoulder. "Come on. Weren't you gonna show me that thing?" "What thing?" She stares at him. He stares back. She cocks her head toward Cricket and me. "Ah, yes." St. Clair stands. "That thing." They rush out. The door shuts, and St. Clair shouts, "Lola, Cricket wants to show you his thing, too-oo!”

“You'll be so busy with Bridge and what's-his-name that you'll forget all about your English mate, St. Clair.""Ha! So you are English!" I poke him in the stomach.He grabs my hand and we wrestle, laughing. "I claim... no... nationality.”

“Is that...the Looney Tunes theme?"Mer and St. Clair cock their ears."Why,yes.I believe it is," St. Clair says."I heard 'Love Shack' a few minutes ago," Mer says."It's official," I say. "America has finally ruined France.""So can we go now?" St. Clair holds up a small bag. "I'm done.""Ooo,what'd you get?" Mer asks. She takes his bag and pulls out a delicate, shimmery scarf. "Is it for Ellie?""Shite."Mer pauses. "You didn't get anything for Ellie?""No,it's for Mum.Arrrgh." He rakes a hand through his hair. "Would you mind if we pop over to Sennelier before we go home?" Sennelier is a gorgeous little art supply sore,the kind that makes me wish I had an excuse to buy oil paints and pastels. Mer and I went with Rashmi last weekend. She bought Josh a new sketchbook for Hanukkah."Wow.Congratulations,St. Clair," I say. "Winner of today's Sucky Boyfriend award.And I thought Steve was bad-did you see what happened in calc?""You mean when Amanda caught him dirty-texting Nicole?" Mer asks. "I thought she was gonna stab him in the neck with her pencil.""I've been busy," St. Clair says.I glance at him. "I was just teasing.""Well,you don't have to be such a bloody git about it.""I wasn't being a git. I wasnt even being a twat, or a wanker, or any of your other bleeding Briticisms-""Piss off." He snatches his bag back from Mer and scowls at me."HEY!" Mer says. "It's Christmas. Ho-ho-ho. Deck the halls. Stop fighting.""We weren't fighting," he and I say together.She shakes her head. "Come on,St. Clair's right. Let's get out of here. This place gives me the creeps.""I think it's pretty," I say. "Besides, I'd rather look at ribbons than dead rabbits.""Not the hares again," St. Clair says. "You're as bad as Rashmi."We wrestle through the Christmas crowds. "I can see why she was upset! The way they're hung up,like they'd died of nosebleeds. It's horrible. Poor Isis." All of the shops in Paris have outdone themselves with elaborate window displays,and the butcher is no exception. I pass the dead bunnies every time I go to the movies."In case you hadn't noticed," he says. "Isis is perfectly alive and well on the sixth floor.”

“See that guy over there?" I nod toward a man in jean shorts and a Budweiser T-shirt. "Am I that obvious?"St. Clair squints at him. "Obviously what? Balding? Overweight? Tasteless?""American."He sighs melodramtically. "Honestly, Anna. You must get over this.""I just don't want to offend anyone. I hear they offend easily.""You're not offending anyone except me right now.""What about her?" I point to a middle-aged woman in khaki shorts and a knit top with stars and stripes on it.She has a camera strapped to her belt and is arguing with a man in a bucket hat. Her husband,I suppose."Completely offensive.""I mean,am I as obvious as her?""Considering she's wearing the American flag, I'd venture a no on that one." He bites his thumbnail. "Listen.I think I have a solution to your problem, but you'll have to wait for it. Just promise you'll stop asking me to compare you to fifty-year-old women,and I'll take care of everything.""How? With what? A French passport?"He snorts. "I didn't say I'd make you French." I open my mouth to protest, but he cuts me off. "Deal?""Deal," I say uncomfortably. I don't care for surprises. "But it better be good.""Oh,it's good." And St. Clair looks so smug that I'm about to call him on it, when I realize I can't see our school anymore.I don't believe it.He's completely distracted me.”

“To: Anna Oliphant From: Etienne St. Clair Subject: HAPPY CHRISTMASHave you gotten used to the time difference? Bloody hell,I can't sleep. I'd call,but I don't know if you're awake or doing the family thing or what. The bay fog is so thick that I can't see out my window.But if I could, I am quite certain I'd discover that I'm the only person alive in San Francisco.To: Anna Oliphant From: Etienne St. Clair Subject: I forgot to tell you.Yesterday I saw a guy wearing an Atlanta Film Festival shirt at the hospital.I asked if he knew you,but he didn't.I also met an enormous,hair man in a cheeky Mrs. Claus getup. he was handing out gifts to the cancer patients.Mum took the attached picture. Do I always look so startled?To: Anna Oliphant From: Etienne St. Clair Subject: Are you awake yet?Wake up.Wake up wake up wake up.To: Etienne St. Clair From: Anna Oliphant Subject: re: Are you awake yet?I'm awake! Seany started jumping on my bed,like,three hours ago. We've been opening presents and eating sugar cookies for breakfast. Dad gave me a gold ring shaped like a heart. "For Daddy's sweetheart," he said. As if I'm the type of girl who'd wear a heart-shaped ring. FROM HER FATHER. He gave Seany tons of Star Wars stuff and a rock polishing kit,and I'd much rather have those.I can't beleive Mom invited him here for Christmas. She says it's because their divorce is amicable (um,no) and Seany and I need a father figure in our lives,but all they ever do is fight.This morning it was about my hair.Dad wants me to dye it back, because he thinks I look like a "common prostitute," and Mom wants to re-bleach it.Like either of them has a say. Oops,gotta run.My grandparents just arrived,and Granddad is bellowing for his bonnie lass.That would be me.P.S. Love the picture.Mrs. Claus is totally checking out your butt. And it's Merry Christmas, weirdo.To: Anna Oliphant From: Etienne St. Clair Subject: HAHAHA@Was it a PROMISE RING? Did your father give you a PROMISE RING?To: Etienne St. Clair From: Anna Oliphant Subject: Re: HAHAHA!I am so not responding to that.”

“Victor Noir. He was a journalist shot by Pierre Bonaparte," St. Clair says, as if that explains anything. He pulls The Hat up off his eyes. "The statue on his grave is supposed to help...fertility.""His wang us rubbed shiny," Josh elaborates. "For luck.""Why are we talking about parts again?" Mer asks. "Can't we ever talk about anything else?""Really?" I ask. "Shiny wang?""Very," St. Clair says. "Now that's something I've gotta see." I gulp my coffee dregs, wipe the bread crumbs from my mouth, and hop up. "Where's Victor?""Allow me." St. Clair springs up to his feet and takes off. I chase after him. He cuts through a stand of bare trees, and I crash through the twigs behind him. We're both laughing when we hit the pathway and run smack into a guard. He frowns at us from underneath his military-style cap. St. Clair gives an angelic smile and a small shrug. The guard shakes his head but allows us to pass.St. Clair gets away with everything.We stroll with exaggerated calm, and he points out an area occupied with people snapping pictures.We hang back and wait our turn. A scrawny black cat darts out from behind an altar strewn with roses and wine bottles,and rushes into the bushes."Well.That was sufficiently creepy. Happy Halloween.""Did you know this place is home to three thousand cats?" St. Clair asks."Sure.It's filed away in my brain under 'Felines,Paris.”